


In the Interim

by 8inchCaliper



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8inchCaliper/pseuds/8inchCaliper
Summary: Dr. Martin Whitley is a deranged serial killer  - but he's also a husband and father. It's a wonder the dichotomy doesn't break him...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	In the Interim

In the Interim

Coming back from a socialite dinner with Jessica on his arm was jarring at best. The moment they entered the threshold, Dr. Whitley dropped the pasty smile and slipped into his role as husband and father, a regular civilian. If he had to analyze himself, he’d have concluded that he had some form of dissociative disorder, the way another aspect of his personality took over, effortlessly, the way he became another personality without Jessica catching wind. And that was no major feat; 

Jessica only concerned herself with ‘Jessica’ and the minor distractions she’d goaded him into helping create, whom she affectionately referred to as ‘the children’. She had just spent the evening criticizing her peers’ nose and lip jobs and remarking that their dresses looked to be made of the same fabric as the curtains of the local Salvation Army.

“Martin.” She turned to him now, slipping out of her Jimmy Choo’s. “I want wine.” She pouted at him.

“Dear, we have plenty of wine.” His half-smirk was complacent.

“I want a glass.” She gently tugged off her earrings. “My feet are killing me. Could you get it?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Martin went to the kitchen and ducked into the cool dark cellar, a smaller room which housed Jessica’s favorite pastime: wine. Fermented, aged berries and fruits. He imagined keeping her in here, having her chilled and shoved onto a rack or in a heap behind the door. Out of sight. Martin didn’t need wine to make him giddy. His thoughts were enough.

When he handed her the glass of burgundy liquid, she flashed him a grin, one of her brilliant debutant smiles. “What? I suppose you’re going to tell me I just had three glasses of Chablis.” Her chuckle was throaty. “Dear, that was my dinner wine. This is my cocktail wine.”

“You’re a comedienne now I guess.” He murmured, un-knotting his tie.

“Why, of course! I have to do something for income now that we’ve donated such a large percentage to the Urban Development project.”

“You won’t be missing it for long.”

“I know that, but I like to keep my money close, in spite of what my benefactors say.” She watched him shed his jacket and cufflinks. “I can’t take two steps in this town without finding new causes to pour into.” She took a deep pull from her flute. “Next, you’ll come home and find that I’ve adopted two Haitians and an Iranian.” She chuckled and glanced at Martin who was wincing.

“Honey, you know that I jest!”

Her humor was in bad taste – even for him. Sure, he liked the smell of blood and the feel of life leaving a body by his own hand, but he still considered himself a man of class.

“Anyway,” he murmured, “you don’t want anymore kids. You would have to hire someone to look after your adopted kids.”

She shrugged one elegant shoulder, her hair cascading down her back, thick and dark. “The children aren’t so little anymore. Soon, they won’t need me.”

“By which time, you will have found another project to distract yourself.”

She watched him shed down to his boxers and t-shirt. There was hair curling from beneath his shirt like ivy growing, almost out of control. His arms and legs were strong and he was built compact but solid. She wondered how he kept in such decent shape when he sat at a desk for nine hours out of the day.

“Have you been working out?” she asked, offhandedly. “You look like you’ve lost weight or… built muscle…”

He felt his lips curl into a slight smile. 'Yes, honey, I’ve been working out; every time I wrestle a full grown adult to the ground after holding a square of fabric of chloroform to their nose and mouth and then dragging the dead weight of them to my car. That’s my workout. Or sometimes, for extra calisthenics, I like digging a grave and then dumping a heavy, solid dead body into it and then filling it back up again.' To her, he simply said, “Maybe a little.”

“Well, I think that’s peachy. Maybe you should take Malcolm with you sometimes, so he can see what real men do.”

Martin frowned at that statement. The thought of bringing his young son with him on his adventures made him shudder. Was that what being a real man meant? Taking your son along and showing him how easy it was to stalk another human being, showing him how to lure someone away with lies, to poison them to death? Was Malcolm too young to know?

“I meant to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight.” Martin caught himself fidgeting. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

Jessica smiled again, her dimples prominent. She really was a beautiful woman, almost a classic beauty. His rational mind knew that he only needed a wife, someone well known enough to be his cover. Someone willing to play the role with him – and they complimented one another rather well. People were so distracted by what Jessica was doing, they didn’t have time to concern themselves with what Martin did for a hobby or who Martin went on fishing trips with.

It was late when Jessica finally drifted off and Martin, often restless, walked the halls. He looked in on his kids, sleeping like angels. He wondered how he could have created something so angelic. 

Ainsley was blonde, her wavy hair framing her round little face as she dreamed about unicorns and rainbows. He stood in the threshold and watched her, afraid to come any nearer lest he break her.

Malcolm, though, was different. Martin came into his room and sat on the edge of his bed, peering down at him. The boy was inquisitive and smart, a chip off the old block. He seemed to look inside Martin and know all of his secrets. Yes, they had a decent relationship, all things considered, but it was also guarded. There were unspoken truths between them and it scared the hell out of Martin.

He didn’t realize he was wincing until he unclenched himself. The boy had opened his eyes and was looking back at him in the dark.

“Hi, dad.”

Martin hesitated. “Hi, son. I just… wanted to tell you goodnight.”

Malcolm looked into his soul, curious. “You already did that.”

“Right.” Martin nodded, a nervous smile on his face. “Well, okay then. I’ll just go…”

“Dad?”

Martin had gotten up, moved towards the door but he pivoted now. “Yeah, son?”

“I did something today.”

His interest piqued, he regarded the boy in the dark. “What’d you do?”

A deep shaking breath, then, “I killed something.”

There was a silence between them because Martin was holding his breath. It wasn’t possible, was it? Did he and his son have that in common. Did he garner pleasure? Should he dissuade this behavior? Of course, he should!

“It was a frog. There were some boys from my math class and …I wanted them to think I was cool. I dropped a heavy rock on top of it. I did it on purpose.”

Martin sighed. Even in the dark, he could see the boy’s eyes shimmering like glass. He regretted the act. He wasn’t like Martin at all – unless it came later, those proclivities.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just one of those things.”

“It died. Because of me.” There was a crack in his voice. “I killed it for no reason.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Malcolm shrugged one narrow shoulder. “I wish I could take it back.”

“But you can’t, son. It’s over and done.” He paused. 

“Let me tell you a story. I was about twenty years old one time and I was driving. It was late at night. I was turning the stereo and looked down for a moment. I didn’t realize it until I ran over a bump. I stopped the car and got out to look. Turns out it was a kitten.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened. “What’d you do?”

“Well, there was nothing I could do. He was gone in moments. But from that day forward, I dedicated at least a small portion of my time to the local animal shelter, as a kind of penance. I tried to donate or volunteer time, helping to care for stray animals.”

Malcolm let a tiny smile cross his impish features. “That’s really cool, Dad. You’re a good person.”

“I’m only saying this to let you know that one bad deed doesn’t categorize you forever, son. You did this one thing, but do you think it makes you a criminal? A serial killer?”

“I guess not.”

“Absolutely right. I don’t want you to worry about that, okay? I just want you to think of all the good you can do in the world, all the ways you can make a difference for the better.”

“Okay, Dad.”

Martin went to the door and took one last wistful glance at his boy. “Goodnight, Malcolm.”

“Goodnight, Dad. I love you.”

Martin felt warmth in his chest, borderline nausea. He couldn’t handle this. “I love you.”

He closed the door and finally felt he could breathe again. The story had been false, the scenario completely fabricated. In fact, Martin had killed a cat but he was much younger when he did and it had been on purpose. He wanted to take it apart. He had lacked empathy even then and had managed to hide this from everyone. For more than thirty years.

Back in his bedroom,(the den of despair) he slid under the cool sheets beside Jessica and prayed to God she wouldn’t stir. Of course, God probably wasn’t keen on answering his prayers…

“Martin,” she whispered, groggy, turning to him and wrapping her arm around his shoulder, “Come here.”

Her hair was everywhere and her hot breath on his skin irritated him. He bit into his cheek and endured it. He sucked it up like he always did and waited her out. She had put her hands underneath his tee shirt and tousled her fingers in his wild chest hair but she had drifted back to sleep before she could get too worked up. Maybe God didn’t hate him afterall…

“Goodnight, love,” he kissed her cheek and turned away from her, ready to dream his own violent and insidious dreams. It was the only thing that comforted him enough to still him through the night.

END?


End file.
